Dark Shrine
by Sreya
Summary: A young padawan hides in plain sight on his homeworld at the height of the Jedi Purge.


**Dark Shrine**  
by Sreya

Micah watched as the other adolescents gathered in the street in front of the shrine. He tugged at the unfamiliar clothing... white robes with golden and scarlet trim, a crimson sash around his waist. Looking at the crowd, Micah shrank back into the shadows. Hands gripped his shoulders, lightly squeezing. Taking a deep breath, Micah forced himself to really look at the people before him. He'd never been in a crowd of his own people like this before. The slate gray faces, hairless heads, and leathery skin only made him more nervous. He was used to the variety of Coruscant, where no two people were alike.

Turning around, Micah faced someone more familiar -- a Twi'Lek man wrapped in dark, obscuring robes. "Don't leave me here, Master."

"Micah, we've discussed this. You'll be safe here."

"I don't want to be safe! I want to be with you!"

The man sighed, and knelt down to be on eye level with Micah. His bright red eyes were steady. "Micah... I promised to train and protect you. I can no longer train you, and you understand why, I know you do." Micah slowly nodded. "Then all that is left is to protect you. I cannot do that by letting you run with me. But I can protect you by leaving you here, with your own people, in a community that has promised to keep you safe."

"But I want to fight, Master. What they're doing to us... it's wrong."

"Yes, Micah, it's wrong. But you cannot fight if you are dead. You can do a lot of good here. You're needed, and you'll learn to do as much here -- if not more -- as you would with me."

Micah turned to look at the crowd again. Children were hugging their parents, and forming a line to enter the shrine. "I don't know anyone."

"You know the Salmny. You'll meet the others."

"I don't know anything about the cenobites."

"They'll teach you what you need to know."

"I can't speak the language."

"You'll _learn_, Micah." With a twist, the Master turned the child toward him. "You are strong, and you will do more than you can imagine."

"Will I ever see you again?"

The man blinked repeatedly, then pulled the boy into a swift, tight hug. "You must go." He gently turned him, and then pushed him out into the street.

Straightening his shoulders, Micah joined the line of youth. A horn sounded and the line slowly began to walk up the stairs into the large shrine.

As Micah began the ascent, he looked on the gilded building with trepidation. The twists and turns made it difficult to see the differences between parts of the roof. The sun shone brightly from behind the shrine, blinding Micah to whatever lay beyond its doors. He paused at the top of the stairs, trying to peer through the darkness

+

Micah woke with a start as a staff cracked sharply on the platform beneath him. His legs ached from being crossed for hours. His back begged him to lie down. The best he could do was to lean his head back and blink at the sunlight streaming in the simple skylight far above him.

"Still you do not focus!"

The young man closed his eyes, resisting the urge to sigh aloud. He slowly brought his chin down. As he moved, an arm twitched, and his wing membrane felt as though it had lit on fire as the blood began to flow again. He clenched his teeth, determined to wait out the pain while listening to the Salmny's chastisement.

"You need to ask a question, young one, to receive an answer." The old man stopped his pacing directly in front of Micah. He leaned on his staff, his paper-thin wings falling on either side of it. His fingers wrapped around the dark, circular stone on the end of the golden wood. "You dwell on your arrival again, do you not?"

"Yes, Salmny." Micah studied his mentor's face while silence fell between them. His skin had grown dark gray with age, and the wrinkles gave it a deceptively soft edge. The bright blue eyes were the only light in the stern gaze, and even they did not comfort Micah as they pierced into him.

After a long moment, the old man sat next to his student on the wooden platform. "And still you walk into darkness?"

Micah nodded. He felt deeply ashamed as he did so. On description, the vision seemed to indicate that he disliked the shrine, and was ungrateful for the Salmny's tutelage. In his heart, Micah knew this wasn't true... but then, what did the vision mean?

"Look around, Micah."

Obediently, Micah turned his attention to his surroundings. The room was a perfectly smooth cylinder, with walls that sloped into floor at the bottom, and curved into a clear skylight above. The wooden platform on which he sat formed the only edges in the room. The white marble of the walls and floor had light veins of a reflective, blue mineral, which created an effect of dancing light. Over the floor was a woven rug, embroidered with ancient scripture passages. Micah could only recognize some of the words. An unseen ventilation system created a varying light breeze of cool air, so that when one closed the eyes, it almost felt like being outdoors.

This room was the _Kayala_, the center of the shrine. Only the Salmny, and the apprentice Salmnya, was allowed into the room. It was a place for seeking answers from the gods in meditation. No other living being had ever seen the room. It was Micah's job as Salmnya to clean the room, though in this modern age most of the process was taken care of by droids.

After a long two years, this room, more than any other in the shrine, felt like home. Here, he was allowed to speak Basic. He could ask any question of the Salmny. He could run through his old exercises without fear of anyone witnessing him. He could study the old writings, asking for translations and challenging the concepts they presented.

"Now close your eyes, Micah, and summon the vision. What is it that you see?"

The shrine again appeared in Micah's imagination. Taking a deep breath, he closed down the logical part of his mind, and his memory. Slowly, the shrine appeared as it did in the visions -- dark on the inside, and forbidding.

"It is still dark, Salmny." Micah opened his eyes and looked at the man. "I'm sorry, I am trying --"

"What do you think it means, Micah?"

He stopped speaking, his mouth hanging slightly open. What did it mean? If he knew what it meant, it would stop!

Then he closed his mouth, and carefully thought about the question. "If someone else were to tell me of a vision like this, I would say that the shrine is a place of fear and danger."

"But you do not believe this?"

"No, I don't believe it. So..." Micah paused, thinking through possibilities. "Perhaps the shrine represents the future? But I already know that the times we are in are dangerous..." At a loss, he looked up at his mentor for answers.

But the Salmny only smiled lightly. "You must continue to Question this vision, as you would question a person who presents you with information. Only then can you find answers. But now, it is time for me to ask Questions."

Micah nodded, and stood. "Do you need anything done?"

The old man shook his head as he adjusted his position on the platform. "I need nothing. You should spend time with your peers, Micah. I will see you at supper."

Reluctantly, Micah turned and left the _Kayala_. As he closed the door behind him, he saw a group of adolescents walking toward him. These were the other students of the shrine. Unlike him, they had been at the shrine for several years already. In the morning, they studied mathematics, history... all of the subjects studied in any school. In the afternoons, they studied scriptures, and learned the duties of the cenobites. At night, they would then return home to their families in town. Only a few students stayed at the shrine in the dormitory with Micah -- these students, the _children of loss_, had been orphaned before Micah's arrival, when the Separatists attacked the local shipping port.

As they came closer, one of the students, a boy a year older than Micah, called out a greeting. Micah smiled as he mentally prepared himself for conversation in their native language -- something he still stumbled over at times.

"_Hello, Tan._"

"_How did the Questioning go today, Salmnya?_"

"_Questioning is... very hard._" Micah hedged. A younger student snickered in the back of the small group, and Micah blushed. He knew what the others thought of him -- that he was mentally impaired. The Salmny had been careful to keep him from interacting with the other children until he knew enough of the language to communicate. None of them knew that he had spoken Basic until he came to the shrine, and so they thought he was incapable of speaking any better than what they heard. "_Did you have a good class?_"

"_We studied the selection of the Salmnya today. It..._" Tan looked carefully at Micah, as though afraid of his reaction. "_It is very unusual that a Salmnya is discovered after his fifth year._"

"_Or hers._" Micah supplied. "_It is unusual, but not unheard of._"

"_Yes, the gods may delay identifying a Salmnya if the people are doing something they disapprove of. But even then, the Salmnya is usually already a student of the shrine._"

Micah remained silent. He knew the students were hunting for an explanation from him -- why he was different. It was an explanation he could not give.

"_Know what Cenob Shem says?_" a younger girl, Salai, spoke up. "_He says that the gods didn't identify you until you were older because they disapproved of us joining the Republic._"

The world stopped for a moment. "_What... what else did Cenob Shem say?_"

"_He says that when the Republic became the Empire, it was no longer as corrupt, and the gods could give us our Salmnya. Seems to make sense, doesn't it? You were born just before we joined the Republic, but then they couldn't identify you while it was still the Republic, so they waited until the Empire was there._" Salai smiled at Micah, but it was all he could do to keep his features free of the horror he felt deep inside. He wanted to rush back into the _Kayala_, and demand to know why Shem would say such a thing -- but he was forbidden from entering while his mentor meditated.

"_Yeah... I guess that makes sense. Uh..._" Micah looked around the group, who were watching him expectantly. "I_ have to go, I have to study._"

Tan shrugged. "_We'll see you at dinner then._"

The group of students walked past him, Salai watching him curiously until she turned a corner. Once they were gone, Micah rushed to his room. He didn't feel safe until the door was closed and locked. Breathing heavily, he sat down on his bed, and stared at the wall.

Was that what they took his presence for? _Approval_ of the Empire? The shining beacon that they should blindly follow that... that... The Empire had destroyed his home, killed his master, his friends, everyone he'd ever cared for and respected.

His life was forfeit to the Emperor if he should ever be discovered, cloistered away in a rim world.

And people took him to be a sign of the Empire's righteousness.

A low cry escaped Micah's throat as he hid in the covers of his bed.

+

_Micah peered through the darkness of the entryway. He could hear low voices inside, but the words were indiscernible._

"Hello? Is someone there?"

+

The icy slush squelched under Micah's feet. The trumpets blaring ahead had long ceased to sound festive. The crowd pressed close, reaching out to touch his hand, his cloak, his face. As Salmnya, Micah reached back to the children, touching hands and foreheads in blessing. His fingers were numb with cold... he was certain his "light brushes" were leaving bruises on those he touched. Ahead of him, the Salmny spread his benediction to the adults, and the ill and crippled.

Not for the first time, the procession paused as the Salmny stopped for a particularly needy person. Micah squeezed closer to his teacher, and took advantage of the respite to bring his hands up to his mouth, breathing warm air onto them. He cursed the thin wings on his upper arms and torso, which made it impossible to wear a proper coat. The cold winds whipped up through his cloak, chilling him to the bone.

It was amazing, really, that the Salmny did not look to be affected by the cold. The long hooded cloak was ornamental, rather than practical. But the old man did not so much as shiver. His hands were steady on a crippled woman's head, and he prayed loudly for her to be healed.

With tears frozen to her face, the woman thanked the Salmny, painfully bending down to kiss the hem of his cloak. He gently helped her back up, and into the arms of her family.

The trumpets blared, and the procession moved on again.

Micah reached up to brush at his face and realized that it had started to snow. The wind blew his cloak up around his shoulders. The tips of his toes were tingling, and he wiggled them as he walked to prevent them from losing all feeling. He plastered a smile on his face for the people surrounding him, but he daydreamed of a hot bath back at the shrine. He could picture the steam curling up around him, coating the windows and mirrors in thick moisture --

"Salmny! Salmny!"

The procession paused again. An old man pushed through the crowd, calling for the holy man. He carried a child wrapped in a cloak far too large. "Please, Salmny!" Micah focused on the old man in surprise -- he was speaking in Basic! "She has not spoken since her parents died."

The Salmny reached out for the girl, then suddenly jerked his hands back. "Salmnya, cot eria."

The crowd around Micah parted to let the young man through. He swallowed, nervous, as he approached. He looked at the child, a girl, as he drew close. Her pale green eyes were unfocused, staring at nothing. Her small hands clung to the old man's cloak. There was an emptiness in her soul... a loneliness that Micah recognized.

Glancing up at the Salmny, Micah realized that he was expected to pray over this child. He opened his mouth to protest, then caught the eye of his mentor. There would be no discussion.

Hesitantly, Micah reached out his hands. At first, he meant to just lay them on her head, then he dropped them slightly and covered her small hands where they bunched the cloak. They were cold even to his frozen fingers. Micah took a deep breath as he searched his memory for the healing prayer.

"Eoshi, habat loine elmnyas ouns." _Eoshi, heal this child's wounds._

The girl's eyes twitched, then she looked at Micah. He could feel a connection with her, and could sense the weeping inside.

"Tothi, habat shans elmnyas ouns." _Tothi, heal this child's mind._

_You're not alone_, Micah thought, squeezing her hands gently. _It hurts, but you're not alone._ The girl shifted in the man's arms, and her fingers entwined with Micah's. He closed his eyes, and let go of physical feeling as he recited the next verse. He hadn't felt this clear, this connected, since...

"Kalmny, habat parl elmnyas ouns." _Kalmny, heal this child's spirit..._

He could sense the dark knot where she'd bottled up her pain. In his mind, he could picture it, pulsing angrily, a mockery of a living organ. He imagined himself holding it, massaging it.

"Salan, habat eyai elmnyas ouns." _Salan, heal this child's heart._

Slowly, the knot unravelled, then burst in a flash of light. Startled, Micah's eyes flew open. But before literal sight returned, he caught a glimpse of chaos -- men in white armor bursting into a home, grabbing at the adults, shoving the children aside, waving weapons in their hands.

Gasping, Micah blinked, then realized something heavy was in his arms. Somehow, the girl had been transferred to him, and she curled up against him, tears streaming down her face. She whimpered softly, then murmured, "Mammy... Poppy..."

Micah hugged her close. The crowd around him was silent, watching in awe. Beyond the simple people of the planet stood an Imperial officer, observing with two stormtroopers. Micah wrenched his eyes from them, and looked at the man who'd brought her to the procession. "Her parents..."

"Are dead," the man repeated. Voices whispered in Micah's mind, garbled and low, but one managed to rise above the rest. _Alive, but better off dead..._

Micah turned to the Salmnya then, and spoke quietly, struggling to speak simply in the native language. "Elmnya set eri hanus," _the child should be in the shrine_, "nu elmnyas wen teit," _with the children of loss._

The old holy man listened, then slowly nodded his head. He asked the child's bearer to come with them, then gestured to the trumpet bearers that the procession should continue.

Micah barely noticed the rest of the trip. With the little girl in his arms, he forgot completely about the cold, and focused only on her. She was larger than he'd first thought, and heavy, but he continued to soothe her as they travelled through the streets. When they finally returned to the shrine, Micah took his place behind the Salmny as he conducted the annual blessing of the building, then brought the girl inside.

+

_Micah peered through the darkness of the entryway. He could hear low voices inside, but the words were indiscernible._

"Hello? Is someone there?"

The other children had disappeared from the hall. A strange light flickered over everything, making the very emptiness seem alive. The voices came from the _Kayala_. Slowly, Micah walked to the room. "Hello?"

"He approaches."  
"Death."  
"He comes!"  
"Beware."  
"The children!"

+

"Ranna, you have to go to classes with the other children!"

The little girl pouted and stomped her foot. "I don't like those, they're boring. I wanna come with you!"

Micah sighed and took Ranna's hand, leading her down the hallway. She dragged her feet, scuffing the polished floors. "You can't come with me. I have to go to special classes with the Salmny."

"I want classes with Sally, too!" Ranna looked up at Micah, pursing her lips and widening her eyes as much as she could. _"Please?"_

"No, Ranna. Only the Salmnya can have these lessons."

"Then I'll be a Sallya, too!" Ranna pulled her hand from his, and skipped in a circle around him. Her summer skirt flared as she sang the little song she'd made of the healing prayer. "Eoshi, Eoshi, loine ouns, Eoshi! Tothi, Tothi, parl ouns, Tothi!"

Micah couldn't help but laugh as he watched her dancing. It felt good to have someone he could talk to, even if she were only a child. And that he was allowed to speak Basic with her was even better. "All right, dancing princess, I'll talk to the Salmnya and see if maybe we can have a lesson together."

"Yay!" Ranna jumped in place, clapping her hands."

"But _not _today." She froze, and the pout returned to her face. "If you go to class today, I'll talk to him."

Of course, it wasn't so simple as that. Micah still had to coax and plead with her every step of the way, but eventually, Ranna was in the classroom with the other children. There were only two others her age, and Ranna immediately ran to see what they were doing. She was friendly with everyone, but like Micah, the language barrier prevented her from really getting to know anyone. And she had spent every minute possible with Micah since entering the shrine.

After watching for a minute, Micah turned and retraced his steps back to the _Kayala_. When he entered, he found the Salmny waiting for him. "I'm sorry, I -"

The old man held up a hand, stopping him mid-sentence. "I understand, Micah. Little Ranna again?"

"She didn't want to go to class."

"Ah."

"I," Micah hesitated momentarily, then plunged ahead, "I promised I would ask if we could do a lesson together. Maybe just something simple, maybe language classes? She wants so badly to do the things I do, and, well..." he trailed off, not knowing what to expect.

But his mentor surprised him when he nodded. "I think we can arrange that."

Micah grinned in relief. "Thank you, Salmnya. I wasn't sure what you would think of it."

The old man simply smiled, then characteristically left the subject. "I wish for you to Question alone today, Micah. I know you have not made much progress, but I have had an urgent call from the Imperial governor -- I am summoned to the capitol offices today."

Micah's heart stopped. "The governor?" he breathed. His heart began beating again, twice its normal speed. "Do you know why?"

"I am certain it is nothing unusual, child." The Salmnya's face had smoothed over, and Micah could discern nothing from it. But the very fact of a summons was unusual in and of itself. The Empire had cut off the Salmny from any civic duties he once held before Micah even arrived, and ignored the shrine since. The tacit approval of the Empire amongst many of the cenobs probably helped keep them out of the governor's notice. But it seemed their time to be on the sidelines had run out.

"What," Micah licked his lips, "what shall I Question about?"

The Salmnya walked up to Micah, and placed his hands on the young man's shoulders. "Question your vision, Micah. Question your very purpose." With a squeeze of his hands, the teacher turned and left the room.

The door sealed with a soft _click_ and disappeared into the wall.

Uneasy, Micah took his place on the platform. He took a deep breath in, then let it out slowly. He closed his eyes, and repeated the breathing pattern.

_My purpose?_

Inhale.

_Why am I here?_

Exhale.

_**The man sighed and knelt down to be on eye level with Micah.**_

_**His bright red eyes were steady. "Micah... I promised to train and protect you. I can no longer train you, and you understand why, I know you do."**_

_Why do I see my Master? _

Inhale.

_**The sun shone brightly from behind the shrine, blinding Micah to whatever lay beyond its doors. He paused at the top of the stairs, trying to peer through the darkness.**_

_Why is the shrine in darkness?_

_**Micah peered through the darkness of the entryway. He could hear low voices inside, but the words were indiscernible.**_

_**"Hello? Is someone there?"**_

_**"He approaches."  
"Death."  
"He comes!"  
"Beware."  
"The children!"**_

_ Micah stepped forward into the Kayala, and the voices rose in volume._

_"The Dark One!"  
"You must leave!"  
"Why do you bring our destruction?"_

_Micah stared around him in shock. The beautiful marble of the Kayala was marred and muddy. Shaking, he stepped forward and touched it. He pulled his hand back, and stared -- the wall was covered in blood._

_He stumbled back as a sensation hit him, strong as stone. His insides were tearing, the very air around him was aflame, the world turned upside down._

_From without, a terrible scream filled the room -- it was Ranna's voice._

Micah watched as the other adolescents gathered in the street in front of the shrine. He tugged at the unfamiliar clothing... white robes with golden and scarlet trim, a crimson sash around his waist. Looking at the crowd, Micah shrank back into the shadows. Hands gripped his shoulders, lightly squeezing. Taking a deep breath, Micah forced himself to really look at the people before him. He'd never been in a crowd of his own people like this before. The slate gray faces, hairless heads, and leathery skin only made him more nervous. He was used to the variety of Coruscant, where no two people were alike.

Turning around, Micah faced someone more familiar -- a Twi'Lek man wrapped in dark, obscuring robes. "Don't leave me here, Master."

Micah fell from the platform, the air knocked from his lungs as he hit the floor. Scrambling to his feet, he rushed to the door. When it opened, his senses were immediately assaulted -- screams filled his ears, ozone-ridden air filled his nose, and light flickered from the end of the hall. He rushed to the shrine's outer sanctum, nearly blind with terror. He longed for the flight his wings should have given him, had given his long-dead ancestors. How long had he been in the vision? What --

The shrine was overrun with stormtroopers. Micah froze when a sole, dark figure filled his vision.

Death.

Lord Vader.


End file.
